Spunky and Slippery

The sex education I had growing up wasn’t too bad. Not that it was terribly memorable either (unlike finding and devouring my father’s Playboy cartoon books. Which I now own).

What do I remember? I remember making rockets out of tampons at eleven. I remember being amazed  at sixteen when I found out that spunk (a term we used for a sexy guy) was slang for sperm. I know that I was taught about condoms and spermicide and the pill – and early enough that I used all of those things. Just.

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Because I’m a curious person, I get to wondering about how sexual the previous generations of my family were.

(This isn’t as weird as it sounds. My parents are dead. All grandparents bar one are dead. And the greats? Long gone.)

Obviously they were sexual enough to reproduce, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. That goes for the ancestors of most everyone on the planet. But were they happy? Did they smile, or ‘think of England‘? Did they have relations because it was part of marriage and  expected of them, or necessary to survive, or did they take pleasure – and give pleasure – and feel joy in coming together?

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Musings on Curvitude

Today is 11 years since my mother’s suicide. I don’t feel up to saying anything new, but I did want to repost something I wrote a few years back.

I miss my mother’s body.

In our household skin was normal, and it wasn’t the slightest bit unusual to pee with the toilet door open, or to amble naked from bedroom to bathroom – not to mention from bedroom to the kitchen for a drink and back again! As a child, waking up in the morning the first thing I’d do would be to throw myself into bed with mum and dad, and they’d both be naked. (Sleeping without clothes always seemed perfectly sensible to me, and was something I took up myself after I turned fourteen. Pyjamas and nighties always felt right when I was younger, however. But never knickers… knickers were for daytime only!)

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Toi Toi and Seagulls

Toi toi is part of my memories. When I was a growing up we had a large hillock fronting a shared driveway, and toi toi, cutty grass, and the ubiquitous biddy-bids grew there. It was a great place to burrow into, make caves or nests or simply wriggle in and read in sunny shade. And, of course, toi toi could be pulled free and imagined into swords, flags, or whatever took my fancy.

There’s a particular smell that I can remember when I think of that hillock. It’s summer and grass and pollen and petrol fumes (from the road), sunshine and dirt and safety.

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I really do love my hair. I enjoy the soft weight of it against my shoulders. I delight in brushing it across the chest (or lower down) of a lover. I am pleased that I can plait it, bun it, put it in a ponytail, curl it in fat pigtails, or just clip it back.

And I love the colour of my hair. It’s a luscious dark brown, with red and auburn highlights in the sun, and has delicate silver hairs radiating out from my temples.

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Slow Dance

I wrote this as an entry to Wilhelmina‘s ‘First‘ competition, now closed. It’s a true story, and one I’ve not shared on this blog before. Let me know what you think!

We had been doing the slow dance of flirtation for months. She was unconventionally attractive – her slim legs ending in Doc Marten boots beneath her skirts, a laughing mouth and teasing eyes – but it was quite some time before I realised I was attracted to her. A girl. Another woman. Not a man, in other words. That was a first for me, and it was some weeks of heavy pondering in the early hours, before I came to accept that I was attracted to whomever I was attracted to – in this case, her.

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First Kiss

The first guy I ever kissed just friended me on Facebook. Which I actually think is pretty cool, so I friended him back.

It’s been a long time since that first kiss. He was first of many things, actually – first kiss, first oral (both me on him and him on me), first really heavy serious petting makeout session. And my first outdoor sexual experience. There are lots of memories there, all spanned over the period of about a year and a half, and I haven’t thought of them for quite some time.

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This time of year, as the silly season approaches, I think about my family. The family that’s no longer present, and family I’m obliged to see.

Most of my close family is gone. Both parents, three grandparents. My only brother is terminally ill. When he’s gone, it’ll be down to my grandmother, my niece, and a whole mess of extended family.

I make a choice to not see (as much as possible) most of my extended family. Many of them were perplexed at the choice Apollo and I made to be civilly unioned, rather than married. They don’t understand why we never want children. And they’d be appalled – and would likely pray for my soul – if they knew of my pansexuality, polyamory, and kinkiness. Some few cousins (and one uncle) have been told. The rest I don’t care to share it with.

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It’s been too long. Too long since you knelt between my legs and used your fingers to part my lips, carefully slipping past the curly tangle that frames my cunt. Too long since I last felt that deliberate flick and caress of tongue across my mons and down to my clit. Too long since my insides clenched and tummy tingled while your lips explored my labia, then your teeth gently grated past my clit, teasing me before your tongue pressed itself deep inside me. Too long since I moaned and tightened my thighs around your head, feeling your chin down low and nose up high while you bury your face between my legs.

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The delicious TeacherinHeels and the delectable Man with Secrets have both tagged me with this meme … and it’s one I find a tad challenging, as I deliberately keep this blog separate from my other online profile. How to share facts about myself without inadvertently giving myself away? After some thought I decided, seeing as this is a Sex Blog, to make my facts seven random Sex Facts.

The rules: each person starts with 7 random facts about themselves on their Blog. People who are tagged need to blog 7 facts about themselves and post the rules as well. At the end of their blog list 7 people you are tagging (and then let them know that they are tagged by leaving them a comment).

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